


we're gonna go far (together)

by bonnia



Series: kuroken [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More characters to come, PTSD, Rockstar AU, Romance, kenhina friendship is strong in this, selective mutism, side pairings are listed in no particular order, this is kuroken focused with side pairings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 20:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonnia/pseuds/bonnia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kenma, it was Kuroo Tetsurou's voice that saved his life. </p><p>Kuroo just wants to hear Kenma's.</p><p>(or: Kenma has selective mutism, and Kuroo's a rockstar who just so happens to need a muse.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. some bad decisions are made

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt:  
> "i’m mute and you’re the lead singer of my favorite band who just pulled me on stage to sing with you au"
> 
> I really should /not/ be writing during exam month.

"How's everybody doin' tonight?" Kuroo yells into the microphone, hearing the cacophonies of his fans screaming in response. He grins, loving the high that comes with every performance.

"I hope y'all are havin' a blast, 'cause I know I am!" Bokuto cheers into his microphone, pumping his fist with enthusiasm.

"The next song's a special one, near and dear to my heart," Kuroo continues. He plasters on his most smouldering grin. He strums a few of the opening chords, unable to suppress a wide smirk when the crowd goes wild with recognition. "Are you ready for it?"

Deafening screams.

"I said, _are you ready for it?!"_

The screams raise an octave in pitch.

"But, before we start..." Kuroo laughs when the fans groan at his teasing. He scans the faces in the crowd, letting the tension build in the air.

Eventually, his gaze rests on a small head of bleach blonde hair, wispy bangs framing a small pixie-like face that glows and pulses along with the strobe lights. He doesn't know why he does it, but he finds himself meeting those yellow eyes, cat-like in their neon reverence, and feeling his heart stutter a single beat. If not for the glowing light-stick in their hand, the placid set of their lips would've made Kuroo think that they didn't want to be there.

Kuroo wonders what those lips would look like smiling.

Throat drying up with anticipation, this is when Kuroo Tetsurou makes what is arguably the worst and best decision of his life.

"Hey, you over there... Yeah, you. The blondie in the blue sweater. How 'bout you come and join us on stage for this one?" 

* * *

_This is bad. This is bad_ , is all Kenma can think when he feels the weight of Kuroo Tetsurou's piercing dark eyes as they probe the audience. The fluttering of nervous butterflies are expected, but Kenma doesn't welcome it. He'd made it through half the songs, a lot more than he'd thought he could handle, but the bodies pressed up around him are overwhelming.

Pinching Shouyou's sleeve between his fingers, he tugs and shuffles closer, feeling the familiar twinges of anxiety curl around in his stomach. Shouyou turns to him worriedly.

"Do you want to leave?" he shouts over the noise of the crowd. "They're about to play your favourite song, though."

Kenma bites his lip, shifting his gaze back to the stage. The lead singer is busy teasing the crowd, revelling in their reactions, and Kenma finds himself unwilling to miss this. It had taken a monumental effort on his own part and Shouyou's convincing for him to work himself up to come here. He doesn't regret coming, no, but as with every social outing that Kenma attends, a part of him yearns to be elsewhere.

But hearing Kuroo Tetsurou's voice, live and in person and so very _real_ makes all of the stress worth it.

He makes a quick hand sign for 'after', and Shouyou nods in understanding, looping his arm around Kenma's. The grin he shoots the blonde is proud and infectious, and at once Kenma's heart feels a little lighter.

 _Yes... staying was a good decision._ After all, he doesn't want to ruin this for Shouyou, too.

With that, he turns back to the stage, determined to enjoy the rest of the concert and see this through to the end. However, as soon as his gaze snaps up, he freezes, feeling his skin crawl with nerves and heat from blood that rushes to his cheeks and palms because without a doubt, Kuroo Tetsurou is staring _straight at him._ Kenma can't move, pinned under that hooded gaze, squirming under its weight, feeling scraped raw and vulnerable. Shouyou, who notices Kuroo Tetsurou's line of sight, glances back and forth between his friend and the singer with wide-eyed interest.

"Hey, you over there... Yeah, you. The blondie in the blue sweater. How 'bout you come and join us on stage for this one?"

What?

_Oh no. No, no, no, no, no..._

Kenma pales and shakes his head quickly, looking to Shouyou for help who looks just as equally stricken as he feels with his mouth hanging open in horror. But before the redhead can do or say anything to remedy the situation, the crowd roars, pinpointing Kenma and shoving and ushering him up to the stage under Kuroo Tetsurou's enthusiastic beckoning.

In a daze, Kenma finds himself stumbling up under the spotlight feeling like a newborn deer on shaking legs and wondering why exactly this sort of thing has to happen to him and how exactly the situation escalated this quickly. He blinks rapidly, hearing his blood pounding in his ears, and the weight of his body suddenly feeling like _too much_ —

Suddenly, the weight of a heavy arm lands on his shoulders.

"I was hoping you could help us out with the next song," Kuroo Tetsurou drawls, and he's so close that Kenma feels absolutely dwarfed next to him, both physically and presence-wise. "You know it, don't you?"

Kenma swallows, thankful for the yes-no question. His tongue feels like lead in one-on-one conversations, and right now, it is a star in his mouth that burns so hot it's painful and its weight far too much for a single boy to handle. He manages to nod once, tight and jerky, and is relieved that the rest of his body is at least operating semi-normally. With luck, he might get through this as long as he isn't asked any other questions.

He finds Shouyou's face in the crowd and his friend is signing frantically to him while jumping up and down, _'Lip-sing. Lip-sing!'_ But before he can make any move to reply, Kuroo Tetsurou laughs easily, finally releasing his shoulders and stepping back out of Kenma's space to both the boy's simultaneous relief and chagrin.

"No need to look so nervous. Why don't you tell us your name?"

Kenma opens his mouth, even though he knows no sound will come out — hasn't for years. Everyone's eyes are on him right now, and under Kuroo Tetsurou's expectant gaze, Kenma has never felt like more of a failure.

_Why can't I speak?_

_Why can't I even say my own name?_

Frustration bubbles up that's been far too long suppressed and tears bud at the corners of his eyes.

He's already been quiet for too long to be natural, he knows. Even others under shock would be able to manage out a _name._ When he glances up, Kuroo Tetsurou's look of distinct confusion, an unasked question in the furrow of his brows, makes Kenma want to curl up in some dark corner for the rest of his life. But before Kenma can run off the stage and do just that, someone speaks up.

"Kuroo, you idiot. You scared the hell out of him." It's Tsukishima Kei, the drummer, whose bored drawl draws a wave of titters through the crowd. Relief leaves Kenma in an exhale when the singer's attention is pulled away from him.

"Yeah!" Oikawa Tooru pipes up into his own mic. "How about we get two more people up here?"

With obvious approval from the crowd, Oikawa and Bokuto make a game out of choosing someone. It's clear they're trying to draw attention away from the awkward situation that had been Kenma's appearance, and honestly, Kenma doesn't know if he should feel grateful or offended.

But as it turns out, his body — unsurprisingly — has other plans.

Kenma promptly passes out, and the last thing he remembers as the darkness swallow him are warm arms and Kuroo Tetsurou's voice, loud and insistent by his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update: might start posting this [here](toppah.tumblr.com) as well ^^


	2. don't slam doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long for this to get out, i'm being such a gaming nerd now that summer's started  
> anywayy. thanks so much for the support for the first chapter y'all are so cool :')

_"Honey, wake up. It's time for school."_

_He opens his eyes. Nothing is out of the ordinary. It's his room, everything in its proper face. There's his mother, frowning at him with her warm brown eyes and creased cheeks, worn from smiling through the years._

_He sits up and sees nothing out of the ordinary._

_"Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? You didn't eat dinner last night. Are you feeling alright?"_

_He opens his mouth to tell her 'yes' , but suddenly there's a hand curled around his throat, pressing him back against the headboard. He doesn't struggle. His phantom limbs feel like a stranger's_ — _they're not him. With the air strangled out of him, he can't force out a sound, even as his mother turns away, having lost patience with waiting for a response._

Wait _, he mouths. She doesn't._

 _He screams, and even then, not a sound escapes because those hands won't let_ go —

* * *

"Hey."

Kenma blinks his eyes open to find someone peering down at him with concern. He's enough of a Kings fan to recognize those gentle eyes and calming smile as the manager, Akaashi Keiji.

"You've been out for a while now. The concert's almost over," Akaashi tells him. Kenma belatedly notices the glass of water offered to him and slowly sits up to take it. Glancing around, a little panicking feeling strikes his chest when he realizes that he has no idea where he is. The rough leather of the couch is unfamiliar, as is the peeling yellow of the wallpaper. Then he chides himself, because the racks of clothes and the mirrored walls is an obvious indicator that they're currently backstage, as are the sounds of chords and screams filtering through.

Akaashi hasn't said anything yet, simply eyeing him with unreadable eyes, but Kenma somehow feels at ease in his presence. He doesn't feel the pressure of having to speak, and Akaashi hasn't asked him any questions.

He clutches the glass of water to his chest like a shield nonetheless. _Where's Shouyou? He must be worried sick._

"Your friend came running in here a few minutes ago. He's outside making a call right now," Akaashi explains, seeing through his worry. "You're welcome to wait back here until he gets back." Akaashi tilts his chin to the couch in askance and when Kenma gives a little nod, he sits, leaving a respectable breadth of space between them. "Anyway... You gave the guys a bit of a scare out there. Do you need to get to a hospital?"

Kenma shakes his head quickly.

Akaashi just nods in understanding. "Your friend explained to me about your situation. Only me, though," he adds when he sees Kenma's rising panic. "I wanted to apologize on their behalf. Well, on Kuroo's, if he never gets the chance to. Pulling a fan onstage wasn't planned beforehand... The idiot made that call on his own, but someone should have stopped him. I'm sorry. We'll cover any costs if you're hurt."

Kenma looks down at his hands and shakes his head again. While he's glad Akaashi hasn't been looking at him with pity, it's still frustrating as always to see someone attempt a one-sided conversation with him. He has to give the man some credit for managing to stick to yes-no statements.

"It's a relief that Kuroo managed to catch you in time. That would've been a nasty fall." Akaashi hands him a slip of paper. "In case you're hurt anywhere, feel free to call — er, text this number."

Kenma gives a shy nod of thanks, slipping the paper into his pocket. Before they can fall into an awkward silence, Shouyou, _his hero, his shining ray of hope_ , bounds into the room in a flurry of orange.

"Kenma! Are you awake! Oh my God, thank God you're okay! I'm so sorry I left you alone here! Are you hurt? I was so scared when you collapsed up there, I didn't think any of this would happen, I'm so sorry!" Shouyou frets, babbling away his nerves like usual, hands fluttering around Kenma haplessly.

Kenma barely manages to sign an _'I'm alright,'_ before his hand is smacked aside by one of Shouyou's flailing limbs. Under his friend's fussing, he manages a tiny smile.

"I gave him a number," Akaashi says calmly, getting to his feet. "I apologize once again for all this trouble. I'll be sure to give them a talk — "

"Oh, no, don't apologize," Shouyou says hastily, pulling Kenma to a stand as well. "This was a total accident! Well, we should be on our way now. Thanks for watching over Kenma!"

Akaashi nods, looking a little dazed. Before Shouyou can drag him out the door, Kenma pulls out his phone, hastily typing out a message. He brings the screen close to the manager's face, hands trembling a little from the boldness of the action. The man's expression doesn't change when he reads it, but he gives a small nod.

"It's late. I could call a taxi — "

"No need!" Shouyou says, already at the door with Kenma in tow. "We have a ride. Thanks again, mister!"

They leave out the back door and out into the cold of the night. Kenma brings his arms around himself for warmth.

"What'd you tell him?" Shouyou asks as they make their way to the waiting van.

 _'To keep it a secret,'_ Kenma signs reluctantly when it's obvious that Shouyou won't budge until he spills.

"You know it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I don't get — "

_'Cold. Can we just go?'_

Shouyou lets out an explosive sigh and loops his arm through Kenma's, pulling them into a walk again.

Kenma taps Shouyou's cheek to get his attention. _'I'm sorry.'_

Very heatedly, he says, "Don't apologize, you idiot. Don't ever apologize for something like this."

Kenma swallows tightly. When they get to the car, Daichi doesn't reprimand them for sneaking out, nor does he even look at them in that passively stern way of his. Kenma wonders what Shouyou could have told him.

_Probably everything._

The ride back to the orphanage is filled with Shouyou's bright voice and the soft hum of the radio. Kenma presses his cheek into Shouyou's shoulder and closes his eyes. When he stuffs his hand into his pocket, his fingers curl around a crumpled piece of paper.

 

* * *

 

"What, he's gone already?" Kuroo asks breathlessly, shoulders slumping. The door nearly smacks him in the face from being thrown open so hard but he hardly notices.

"He just left. His friend gave me his number, though. You should probably apologize yourself and check if he's okay. I looked him over while he was out, but as you know," Akaashi spreads his arms wryly. "I'm no doctor."

"Man, I was freaking out all night 'cause of this," Kuroo groans, sprawling onto the couch and pulling an arm over his face. "Did he walk out of here? Like on his own two feet?"

"Ran, actually, but yeah."

"... Great," Kuroo moans. "I wanted to puke when I saw him pass out. I have no idea why I saw my life flashing before my eyes."

"You never cease to amaze me," Tsukishima says, entering the room with a flourish. Akaashi wonders if the door will survive being opened once more. The squeak of the hinges is telling him a resounding _no._ "How do you manage to make _everything_ about you?"

Kuroo gives him the finger and doesn't open his eyes to see Tsukishima return it.

"Who knew Kuroo-chan's type would be little blondes with faint hearts?" Oikawa muses. No one had really noticed him come into the room, but predictably, he'd made a beeline for the mirrors.

"Anyway," Akaashi interjects, severing the verbal match before it can grow another head. "Usually the shock doesn't register until a little later. I hope the kid's okay." _Especially with his disposition, something like that can't be easily recovered from..._

"What, so fainting wasn't enough?" Kuroo snorts. But after a moment of thought, he lowers his arm from his face. "... Didn't you say something about a number?"

Akaashi is about to make a witty response when a resounding cracking sound announces Bokuto's entrance. The door hangs awkwardly by a single hinge.

Bokuto rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "So... rough night, eh, dudes?"

Akaashi exits the room to look for some aspirin. He doesn't get paid enough for this job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love akaashi so much


	3. don't cry over spilt juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hated writing this so! much!!!! i still don't like how it turned out but ;-; 
> 
> and i'm so sorry, fixing this took way longer than it should've cus i landed myself in the hospital. long story short, i'm still alive and writing, so there's that

_Yours eyes are gorgeous like the dawn I think of when I... when I... yawn?_

_This is no good either._  Kuroo throws down his pen in frustration. _Actually, this isn't just 'no good'. It's complete shit._

He runs a tired hand through his hair, wondering what exactly is wrong with him that he's been having such a rough time writing songs for the past month. Thus far, all he's done is toss everything he's tried to write in the trash. Not to mention, every time he shuts his eyes, he can still see the blonde boy from last night crumpling into his arms and feel the weight of those bony shoulders in his hands...

 _Yeah... No good_. His concentration is shot yet again.

He glances down at the paper in front of him before crumpling it in his hand. He shoots it into the garbage can as he stalks out of his room.

It's probably time to visit _him._

"Where ya goin'?" Oikawa asks in greeting, yawning as he stumbles out of his room shirtless and bleary-eyed from sleep.

Kuroo spares him a glance, grabbing the nearest jacket from the rack. He's not sure if it's his — the worn out leather and the tightness around his upper arms tells him it's probably Bokuto's, but he shrugs it on anyway, pocketing his phone. "Out," he says.

"Dick," Oikawa snorts, shuffling into their mini kitchen.

Kuroo grins to himself and debates just leaving. But then again, passing up a chance at ruining Oikawa's day would be unlike him, wouldn't it? "As if I'm gonna tell you of all people that I'm going over to Kageyama's."

Oikawa pauses in a comical half-bent position, arm stretched for the carton of orange juice.

Cackling, Kuroo slams the door on Oikawa's outraged shout of, _"Kuroo, you asshole! That better be a lie...! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"_

"God's work!" he shouts over his shoulder. There's an answering muted thud against their dorm door. Kuroo pictures Oikawa throwing the carton at it with glee.  

He whistles, spinning the keys to his baby around his finger and gives himself a mental pat on the back.

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima pokes his head out of his room.

"What's with the commotion?" he grouses, pulling one headphone away from his ear.

He takes in Oikawa, still half naked in the kitchen and glaring at some orange juice on the floor and snaps his headphones back into place. It's definitely too early to deal with his band-mate's antics. He retreats back into his room, just in time to see Oikawa stomp over to the mess and take a selfie, probably to post it up on Instagram to earn the sympathy of his fans.

Tsukishima falls back onto his bed, cringing when his phone vibrates with a notification. He ignores it. Or, at least, he attempts to. Eventually, curiosity wins over and he squints at the screen.

<Received: Oikawa Tooru> let's hire a maid

He snorts, tossing the phone aside and upping the volume on his music.

 

* * *

 

"Hey! Kags! ... Open up!"

Kuroo frowns, jiggling the handle. The door creaks open without a fuss and Kuroo peers into the darkness of the apartment.

"... Yo, you home? It's Kuroo."

Feeling a little like a burglar, he tiptoes into the living room, wondering if Kageyama's still asleep or something. He knows that the younger boy isn't likely to be outside socializing or anything of that sort because honestly? Kageyama hasn't been doing any of that since...

Well.

"Oh. It's you."

Kuroo jumps back about a foot in the air. "Holy shit. You just gave me a heart attack. Thank you."

Kageyama stands at the entrance to his room with shadows under his eyes and pale as a fucking ghost. His default expression that's both a mixture of discontented-bear and murderous-psychopath looks amplified about ten times over. The excessive stubble is not helping. If Kuroo were any less of a champion, he'd probably have wet himself.

For a moment, Kageyama looks torn between kicking him out or just locking Kuroo out from his room as the former requires a lot more effort, but eventually, he just lets out a very long exhale and turns back into his room, leaving the door ajar. Kuroo takes it as an invitation.

"Looking good," he says, unable to help himself. He kicks the door shut behind him.

Kageyama sneers at him but says nothing in return. He sits slumped at his computer desk, looking abysmally harried and out of it.

"Coffee?" Kuroo sets the cup down next to him without waiting for a reply. He glances at the screen, taking in the numerous tabs of sound files. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"A song," Kageyama mutters, glaring intently at the steaming cup.

Kuroo waits with bated breath, and eventually, Kageyama reaches to take it, hand trembling with strain. When he moves to drink, the shaking has gotten so bad that drops of coffee fly onto his keyboard and shirt. Cussing up a storm, he slams the cup back down, wiping at the drops with his sleeve.

So that's still a no-go. But even Kuroo knows better than to comment. He looks away, busying himself with surveying the wall, then the clothes thrown haphazardly around the room. And he'd thought _his_ room was messy...

"Have you even _left_ this room at all since I last came?" he wonders.

Kageyama makes shifty eyes. "Maybe. Probably. Like, last week, I think."

That's a 'no' if Kuroo's ever heard one. "... You need to go outside."

"I _need_ to finish this song — "

"And I — no, _we've_ told you before! This isn't your responsibility anymore. You don't have to kill yourself trying to make new songs for us just because — "

"Stop." Kuroo falters, swallowing his guilt. "This is what I want to do now. There's nothing else."

Kuroo fights with himself; one part itching to tear in where it hurts and rip Kageyama to pieces just because he _could_ and the other? It's the quieter voice that's telling him to stop —  _now_  — before he ends up pushing another person away or doing something irreparable.

For once, he lets the quiet voice win over. He clears his throat. "So. Have you gotten far? Lemme have a listen."

Kageyama stares at him, like he's just as surprised that Kuroo hadn't been an asshole. _Jeez. Way to make a guy feel bad_. "Just the chorus," he says finally. Then: "You'd better not be expecting lyrics."

"Naw. Those are _my_ specialty," Kuroo grins, leaning down to see the screen as Kageyama hands him a pair of headphones.

Then he shuts his eyes, and listens.

 

* * *

 

When Kuroo gets back to the dorm that night, Akaashi is standing at the foyer with his arms crossed his foot tapping with impatience. He looks so much like a wronged mother that Kuroo is left momentarily speechless, wondering if he should be thinking up excuses right about now.

What had he done wrong again...? It's not like he has a curfew.

"Tooru says you went to see Tobio today," Akaashi says by way of greeting. 

So that's it.

Kuroo busies himself putting his — Bokuto's? — jacket away so he doesn't have to look at his manager's face.

"Maybe," he replies. "Man, I'm tired. Gonna go take a nap — "

"You were there since the afternoon. I'm guessing it wasn't a friendly visit."

Kuroo wants to cry when Akaashi follows him to the kitchen. "It was totally friendly. I'm a friendly guy. I make friendly visits."

" _Tetsurou_  — "

"Don't. Call me that." Kuroo's smile drops from his face and his hand tightens around the fridge handle before he pulls it open with a little too much force.

After an awkward pause: "It's not good for him," Akaashi says, quietly. At least he hadn't apologized.

Kuroo takes out a beer, and after a moment of thought, offers one to Akaashi. The man takes the peace offering with an unimpressed face.

"Look, I know what I'm doing. 'Sides, you usually don't care about me visiting Kageyama, so what gives?" He narrows his eyes. "Did Oikawa say something else?"

"Nothing. Just... Nevermind." Akaashi purses his lips and sighs. "Did you text that number I gave you yet?"

"Oh, that? Nah, not yet. Maybe I'll do that tonight."

Akaashi nods. "Yeah. You should."

"Okay. Yeah, so, I'm just gonna... Go to my room. And take that nap I was talking about. ... See ya." _Man,_ that was not smooth. He's really been losing his touch recently. Kuroo cringes, shuffling out of the kitchen and down the hallway before Akaashi can reply. He shakes off Akaashi's morose look, not wanting to dwell on it.

He slips into his room without any further confrontation and locks the door for safe measure before pulling out his phone and flopping stomach first onto his bed, leaving his unopened beer on the floor. Truthfully, he'd forgotten about the number. With the combination of his writer's block and meeting Kageyama, his thoughts had been pretty much otherwise preoccupied.

Kuroo scrolls down his contacts, keeping his head squished between two pillows. _What did Akaashi say the kid's name was again? Kotsume Ken? Kazune Menma? ... Actually, wait, wasn't that a ramen condiment?_

His hunger must be getting to him. He scrolls down to 'K' with a shake of his head.

 _Oh, right_. _Kozume Kenma_.

"Blondie," Kuroo mutters to himself, clicking the number to compose a message. Thumbs poised over the screen, he mulls over what he should ask. 'Are you okay?' seems too mundane and lame. 'How are you?' is something Kuroo would rather kill himself than send.

Then, feeling a sudden bout of inspiration, he bites the inside of his cheek to fight a shit-eating grin and writes:

> hey beautiful. pretty wild night, eh?

Perfect. Kuroo nearly chokes as he muffles his laughter into his mattress.

And, _send._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroo /pleaseee/


	4. lions and scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, side pairings are still otw! but have a little daisuga :-)

"Kenma, Kenma!" Hinata barges into his room like a tiny orange canon ball, flinging the door open with little care. "Wanna watch a movie — Oh. What're you doing? Homework?"

From the bed, Kenma looks up from his laptop, looking so much like a startled kitten that Hinata has to resist the urge to stroke his friend's hair in hopes of a rewarding purr.

The blonde shakes his head. 'Sneaking out again?' he signs with scepticism heavy on his expression.

"No!" Hinata draws out the 'o' far longer than necessary. "I meant here! Suga-san brought DVDs!"

Hinata holds his breath as Kenma looks at him, then back at his laptop in clear conflict before plucking his earbuds out of his ears and sitting up. He cocks his head to the side in a way that says, _What movie?_

Hinata grins because _victory._ Seven years of friendship and it still feels ridiculously good when Kenma chooses him over alone-time. "Lion King! Or well," he scratches his cheek sheepishly. "That's one of them. I stopped listening after he mentioned that one."

Kenma smiles so briefly Hinata blinks and nearly misses it. He nods in consent, slapping his laptop shut and padding over with little shuffling steps, socked feet dragging against carpet.

Seven years of friendship and Kenma's mannerisms are _still_ ridiculously endearing.

"Kenma," Hinata coos, grabbing his friend's arm because the way Kenma's been blinking at him is a clear sign that he says wants skinship. Hinata knows him well enough to tell when the blonde wants space or when he wants to cuddle, and this is definitely one of the latter times. "You're the best."

'... Just one movie.'

"Don't act like you don't want to watch it too! You love Scar!"

Hinata pulls him into the living area where Sugawara, the volunteer with the sweetest smile and an Obviously Not A Relationship relationship with Daichi, waits with a large bowl of popcorn and Daichi sitting next to him, the latter looking a weird mixture of uncomfortable and pleased like he always does when it comes to the silver-haired man.

"Hey," Daichi greets when he sees them. He also looks a little sick.  _Wonder what that's about?_

Sugawara just waves, pleasant as ever.

"Just the four of us?" Hinata asks, pushing Kenma down onto the couch next to Sugawara before he can change his mind. The blonde hurriedly pulls out his phone and starts poking away, shoulders curling in on himself.

"Hope you don't mind," Sugawara says, fiddling with the remote.

"Of course not! Just to warn you though, Kenma gets _really_ talkative during the Scar parts," Hinata teases, using bony elbows to squeeze himself between the armrest and Kenma. The blonde looks up from his phone for half a second and there's the tiniest quirk of his lips. "Hope _you_ guys don't mind!"

Daichi suddenly looks tense, like he isn't sure if he's supposed to laugh or not. Sugawara on the other hand, smiles breezily in good humour.

'I'll try to keep it down,' Kenma signs dryly, then hides his face behind his bangs.

Hinata grins. "He says he'll keep it down."

Daichi lets out a startled laugh. "Should we get started then?"

"Lion King! Lion King!" Hinata shouts, bouncing in his seat.

"Kenma, put your phone away while you watch," Sugawara chides.

Hinata giggles when Kenma signs, 'One more minute,' and continues tapping away. Sugawara doesn't look too bothered and his sigh even seems almost fond, so Hinata settles himself against Kenma's side, pressing their arms together for warmth as Daichi presses play.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour into the movie, Hinata almost regrets dragging Kenma out to watch it. Very nearly regrets it.

Why? Well.

_'Ding.'_

"Aaarrghhhhh!" _There it is again!_ Hinata grips his hair in frustration. "Kenma! Answer your messages already!"

Kenma's staring at his screen like the thing had personally offended him. It doesn't make any sense.

"Kenma!"

'I _can't_ ,' Kenma signs after a while, looking petrified.

"Huh? Why not?" Hinata lowers his voice when Sugawara shoots him a look. "Why not?"

'Because...' Kenma gives up on explaining, shoving the phone into Hinata's hands.

Hinata blinks at the screen. Then blinks some more. "Wow."

Kenma has been getting spam messages. Hinata feels his hackles rising.

<Received: Unknown Number> hey beautiful. pretty wild night, eh?

And it doesn't end there. Apparently when the offender hadn't received a reply, they'd continued to send more.

<Received: Unknown Number> how u feelin?

<Received: Unknown Number> it was kinda rough wasn't it

<Received: Unknown Number> hello?

<Received: Unknown Number> u there?

"Wrong number?" Hinata guesses. Kenma taps the screen wordlessly.

<Received: Unknown Number> is this kozume kenma?

"Another Kozume Kenma?" he tries, grasping at straws.

Kenma draws his knees to his chest.

"Maybe you should ignore it after all," Hinata says, unsure and feeling bad for snapping at Kenma to answer his phone just moments ago.

_'Ding!'_

<Received: Unknown Number> hellllooooooooooo?

 _So annoying!_ Hinata thinks, blanching at the screen. Kenma has curled into a little ball on the couch and Sugawara keeps shooting them worried looks. Daichi has fallen asleep on his other side and remains oblivious.

"A prank?" he whispers.

Kenma shrugs, burying his face in his arms.

"Hey..." Hinata reaches out; brings his hand to Kenma's hair. "Don't worry about it. Just turn off the sound and ignore it. They'll have to give up eventually, right?"

Kenma nods slowly, and Hinata brushes blonde bangs from his face with a cheery grin. In a single, smooth motion, he turns the phone to silent and slides it into Kenma's pocket. "C'mon, it's your favourite part! Scar's all like, _graaaahhhhh_ and Simba's like _uwaaaaahh!_ "

With Kenma's attention successfully diverted — he'd even managed to pull a _laugh_ out of him! — Hinata turns back to the movie with a frown. Kenma's never had too many problems with bullies from school, but Hinata swears that he'll get to the bottom of whoever's bothering his friend and give them a piece of his mind.

Nobody messes with his family and gets away with it.

 

* * *

 

Kenma hadn't planned on checking his messages before bed; he really hadn't. But Shouyou's asleep in the top bunk and he's having a hard time falling asleep himself, and it's times like these that Kenma can't help but reach for his phone.

<7 Unread Messages>

He holds his breath, and opens them with trepidation.

<Received: Unknown Number> look

<Received: Unknown Number> i know ur probably pissed and yea u have the right 2 be

<Received: Unknown Number> i shouldn't have done it, but i'm a go-with-the-flow kinda guy and the flow was tellin me that a fan just had to go on stage u know?

<Received: Unknown Number> ever get that feeling where u just gotta do something? like really gotta do it

<Received: Unknown Number> anyway

<Received: Unknown Number> i know u can be mad n stuff but just reminding u that it was pretty scary for me too

<Received: Unknown Number> not every day that someone passes out and nearly cracks their head open

Kenma lets out his breath, slowly. He can hear his heart hammering in his ears. Then he scrambles out of his bed and digs through his laundry hamper for a certain crumpled piece of paper.

Akaashi's voice rings through his head. _"In case you're hurt anywhere, feel free to call — er, text this number."_

 _God_ , how _could he be this stupid?_

Shakily, he brings the paper under the light of his phone.

The numbers match.

Kenma's first thought is: Kuroo Tetsurou _has been texting him_.

His next?

 _Kuroo Tetsurou is a_ douchebag.

Kenma slips back into bed and re-reads the messages in a new light, twisting around on his mattress to get comfortable. He pulls the covers over his head.

Was this the rockstar's way of apologizing? In what world would this qualify as an apology? Was Kenma supposed to feel bad for fainting?

Suddenly annoyed, Kenma types out a sarcastic:

> i'm sorry for putting you through all that. it must have been traumatizing.

Then he presses send before he can re-think himself like he so often does.

He falls asleep that night feeling a little betrayed about the disconnect between the glorified image of the Kings' lead singer he'd spent his whole life believing and the cocky stranger and his not-apologies. It shouldn't come as such a surprise, really, but Kenma's never quite himself when it comes to the voice that had saved his life.

It had been too much to ask for, probably, that the man behind those soulful lyrics could be anything but a spoiled, rich superstar. He was stupid to ever have thought otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hinata my sunshine my child


	5. budgeting for dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> akaashi is displeased, tsukishima is an asshole, and kuroo makes a mistake
> 
> in other words, the sky is blue and it's a day that ends in 'y'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my writer's block ended while i was playing piano ???????? i had to stop playing mid-song and run to my computer lol  
> anyway. IWAOI HAS ARRIVED

Kuroo had been staring morosely at his screen with heavy dejection due to the radio silence on the other end when a loud 'ding!' and a grey bubble snaps him out of his trance.

<Received: Kozume Kenma> i'm sorry for putting you through all that. it must have been traumatizing.

Kuroo widens his eyes. _A reply_ _..!_

After minutes of staring at the screen, Kuroo realizes that he's grinning like a fool and mentally smacks himself for getting all worked up over something so trivial. He's texting _a fan_ for god's sake, not the other way around.

Humming Kageyama's new tune under his breath, he lets his thumbs fly across the track.

> apology accepted

Kuroo almost presses send, but after re-reading the message, he begins to wonder if he's missing something. Something along the lines of... sarcasm, maybe? Of the heavy, dry sort. He considers himself pretty good at using it, but he can't say he's ever good at detecting it. Besides, sarcasm in text message form is even more difficult to decipher.

At least, that's what Kuroo tries to tell himself.

Then, eyes lighting up with a brilliant idea, Kuroo scrambles out of bed, kicking his sheets aside. He knows _just_ the person to ask for help. After all, who better to decipher this enigma than the very master of the Art of Sarcastic Texting himself?

With that bright thought, Kuroo swaggers his way two doors down the hall, bellowing, "Tsukki!"

 

* * *

 

When he hears his deplorable nickname being called and the violent banging at his door, Tsukishima calmly considers throwing himself out the open window. Being hospitalized would surely beat having to deal with whatever shit Kuroo has brought to his doorstep this time.

But as always, he lets the moron make his racket outside and doesn't move to let him in until five minutes have passed —  _yes,_ he had been timing it — and Kuroo's rambunctious cackling has been reduced to whines of  'c'mon Tsukki, I promise I'll leave you alone after, just hear me out for a sec!'.

Even so, he unlocks the door with heavy wariness, pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck. "What do you want," he says, and almost immediately shrinks back from Kuroo's blinding, white-toothed grin of victory. He glances longingly at the window.

"Okay, so!" Kuroo starts, pulling out his phone. "Y'know that fan I pulled on stage the other day?"

"The one that passed out," Tsukishima deadpans, only managing to half-humour him.

"Yeah, that one." _Is there another one?_ "I've been trying to text him and apologise, and I don't know if it's working out."

Tsukishima pauses, looks to the window one more time, and then pinches the bridge of his nose in consternation. "... You're asking me to help you with _apologising?_ "

"No way, are you not aware that you are probably the greatest asshole on the planet? No offense," Kuroo says, and Tsukishima feels the sudden urge to throw _him_ out the window when Kuroo shoves a phone in his face, oblivious to any murderous intentions. "Anyway, what I need is for you to tell me if this is sarcastic or not. You're the master of the passive-aggressive sarcastic texting thing in this messed-up little group of ours, so."

Tsukishima blinks, wondering briefly if _Kuroo_ is being sarcastic right now, then snatches the phone out of his face in annoyance. With a 'tsk', he scans the message, and unable to help himself, he scrolls up to have a look at Kuroo's attempt at an apology.

It's... not much of an attempt. It's actually extremely pathetic, even by Tsukishima's standards.

And all things considered, this 'Kozume Kenma' kid hadn't exactly been responsive, either.

"Pfft..." Tsukishima snickers into his hand, giving Kuroo the side-eye.

"What?" Kuroo snaps, taking his phone back. When he sees no new changes have occurred, he gives the blonde an extremely defensive glare. Tsukishima laughs a little harder, just to rile him up.

"You're just fucking with me now, aren't you? Asshole. Should've known better than to ask for your help."

Tsukishima watches him stalk away for a few moments in amusement before calling out, "He was being sarcastic. And just FYI, you should probably reconsider your definition of an apology."

Then Tsukishima slams his door shut without waiting for a reply. With just this, he'd probably earned enough karma points today to be an asshole for the rest of the week. Not that that sort of thing has ever stopped him, but hey, the thought's there.

 

* * *

 

Later, when Kuroo's sitting in the silence of his room, he mulls over Tsukishima's words, and Kenma's single-lined text.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all that. It must have been traumatizing," he reads aloud, and with sudden realisation, he scrolls up to his previous messages.

 _Shit._ He palms his forehead. _I made this about myself again, didn't I? Tsukishima's an asshole, but he was right. I'm no better._

Kuroo bites his lip, wondering if he'd just singlehandedly lost a fan — that is, _if_ the kid had even been one to begin with. He really hadn't looked like he wanted to be at the concert at all, if Kuroo really thinks about it.

He doesn't know how to make it right, so he leaves his phone aside for an hour or so. It's not until he's about to fall asleep that he hastily types out a message, because, _f_ _uck it._  He can't exactly make this worse, now can he?

> hey, uh, can i call u? i really suck at this apologising thing

Then he tosses his phone aside and stuffs his face between his pillows to shut out the world.     

 

* * *

 

It's morning when his phone rings, jerking Kuroo roughly into the realm of wakefulness. He dashes to his phone at light speed, sliding across the floor and knocking over a lamp in his haste. He unlocks his screen from his position sprawled upside-down on the ground, one foot rested on an open drawer and answers the call without even checking the screen.

 _I_ knew _that kid couldn't resist —_

"Family meeting. Now." Akaashi hangs up with a click.

Kuroo slams his head back down to the ground with a laugh of disbelief. Even in silence Kozume Kenma manages to drive him absolutely crazy.

Then realizing just what Akaashi's phone call entailed, Kuroo swallows his sense of foreboding and opts for making himself presentable, all the while thinking, _people who speak with audible punctuation are_ scary.

 

* * *

 

Within ten minutes, all the members of the Kings have assembled in the common area, with Kuroo and Bokuto sprawled out on the couch, taking up all the space, Tsukishima scowling from the kitchen high chair, and Oikawa curled up in the only love seat.

"What's this about, Akaashi-chan?" Oikawa whines, fiddling with his hair. "I have to go out today to get a new guitar."

"Actually, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you guys about," Akaashi responds, perching on the side of the coffee table. "First things first, though. Kuroo, that stunt you pulled the other day can't happen again. I meant to talk about this yesterday, but most of you were out."

"Yeah. Gotcha," Kuroo says with a lazy salute, staring at his phone with bewildering intensity.

"Is the little blondie okay?" Oikawa wonders aloud.

Kuroo looks up for a second. "Huh? Probably. I guess. I think?"

"Kuroo..." Akaashi starts, but is cut off by Tsukishima's snickering.

"Shut up, asshole," Kuroo grumbles.

Bokuto looks back and forth between the two with interest. "What happened to blondie?"

"Yes. What. Happened," Akaashi grits out. _Why did Kuroo not bring this up until now? If something happened to the kid, the charges that could be pressed against them...!_

"Nothing. He's fine." Kuroo sends Tsukishima a scathing look before hastily adding, "What's the other thing?"

Akaashi narrows his eyes, making a mental note to pester Kuroo about this later. He's clearly uncomfortable with discussing this in the presence of the other band members, so Akaashi deigns to be merciful and allow the topic change. "Album sales were great, especially the pre-orders, but even so, you guys have been spending too much."

"We're fine," Oikawa says dismissively, examining his cuticles. "Can I go now?"

"No, not yet. Don't think I'm unaware that you've ordered five packs of designer hair products within the last two days. And you." Akaashi turns to Bokuto. " _Why_ did you think buying another six TVs was a good idea? We already _have_ six of them — "

"Ah, but are they 3D? I think not!" Bokuto declares. Akaashi feels a tick in his brow.

"What about you?" Akaashi turns on Kuroo. "You go out drinking, fine. Buying rounds for everyone there? Fine. But buying _the entire bar_ afterwards?"

"Seriously?" Tsukishima laughs loudly.

"You're a part of this too," Akaashi slams him down flatly, and Kuroo sticks his tongue out at Tsukishima. "You bought a _museum._ "

"I _donated_ to the museum," Tsukishima sniffs.

Akaashi counts down slowly from ten. Then he draws in a tired breath. "It looks like nobody taught you boys how to manage your money. Get comfortable."

 

* * *

 

After a gruelling four hours of Budgeting with Akaashi, Oikawa managed to slip out after babbling out half-hearted excuses that Akaashi had evidently just been too tired to refute.

"Tooru, don't smash your guitar! Tooru, don't you understand the value of money? Tooru, this is coming out of your paycheck. Tooru, beautiful people shouldn't be destroying things. Tooru this, Tooru, that. Akaashi-chan is becoming such a mom," Oikawa mocks to himself in a low grumble as he enters the music store just two blocks down from their dorm. Bokuto had recommended it to him, despite knowing that Oikawa much preferred the one in Shibuya, where they had his custom orders up on a wall. Still, the much decreased commute time to _Shimokura_ would make this place worth checking out, at the very least. The bells on the door chime as he pushes through, and the sight of the interior makes him momentarily forget his previous irritation with his manager.

Lining the walls are rows and rows of electric guitars, and — forget everything else — those alone are enough to make Oikawa feel like he'd just walked straight into heaven. But it should be noted that most music stores, or any place with numerous guitars for that matter, make him feel this sort of bliss.

He slips off his sunglasses when he notes that the store is mostly empty, aside from an older couple perusing some clarinets. They won't be paying much attention to him, he's almost certain. Feeling his heart soar at the prospect of shopping without having to watch his back for stalker photos being taken, he smiles in earnest, nearly prancing over to the guitar section. While he knows that he won't be buying any of them — he likes his guitars custom-made, after all — the craft and design of the ones available are great for giving him ideas for his own.

For a long while, Oikawa is so immersed in his perusing that he nearly misses it: the soft, lulling piano tones drifting from the back room. He pauses to let the sound wash over him, and before he knows it, his feet are moving away from the guitars and taking him towards the invisible source. Whether it be curiosity or something else, Oikawa can't be sure. There's just something about the music; how the notes are carefully played, so much so that the piece flows with a certain steadiness not unlike the marching of feet, but somehow edged with tenderness that only a trained ear would pick up, and how it manages to be both soothing and heartbreaking at once makes Oikawa think that the person playing it must be very sad.

With renewed determination, he pulls back a velvet curtain that leads to the piano section to find a man seated at the bench with tensed shoulders and strong fingers moving with practised ease across the keys. It takes a second for Oikawa to take in the crease of concentration between his brows and think that, _yes_ , what a terribly sad person this is. But also, when the man turns as if sensing Oikawa's presence in the room; stumbles on a key and the music stops, Oikawa takes in the scarred half of his face and thinks, what a terribly _beautiful_ person this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i say everyone has a sob story in this, i do mean EVERYONE


	6. fruit juice and etudes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update was fast, right???  
> i'm seriously falling in love with iwaoi tho.......... oh and kagehina will most likely be in the next chap!

It has come to the point where Kenma has begun to fervently wish that something terrible would befall his phone.

<Received: Unknown Number> hey, uh, can i call u? i really suck at this apologizing thing

His heart feels like lead inside his chest and his bottom lip is red and sore from anxious biting. For once in his life, he's grateful he has school, where everything is mundane and cyclical — but most importantly, predictable. And it also helps that it serves as a legitimate excuse to slip his phone away and proceed to ignore it for the rest of the day.

In all honesty though, Kenma _had_ wanted to reply with a negative. But the thing is, despite everything, he still finds himself yearning to hear Kuroo's Tetsurou's voice so personally. If Kenma weren't so sure that he'd give in the moment his thumbs touched the screen and end up landing himself in an even bigger mess, he definitely wouldn't leave someone hanging this way. It's not him.

Besides, someone like Kenma couldn't possibly hold the attention of someone like Kuroo Tetsurou for much longer. The silence on his end would undoubtedly lead to loss of interest on the other.

 _It's better this way_ , Kenma tells himself with finality, waving Shouyou off when his friend drops him off at his first class. The redhead beams, arms moving spastically as he ambles backwards — after Shouyou had found out about Kenma's aversion to seeing someone's back as they leave him, he'd never once let Kenma see his again whenever they parted ways. His friend only stumbles to a stop when he bumps into a grumpy senior and has to bow profusely in apology.

He forces a smile on his lips for Shouyou's sake when the other glances back once more before disappearing around the corner, even though his feet feel like they're treading through mud and his spot by the window seems miles away.

Kenma doesn't particularly like school. But contrary to popular belief, he doesn't hate it, either; nor does he hate being around other people. In fact, the extra presences around him are welcome so long as there isn't any direct attention placed on him. Anyhow, it's both a blessing and a curse that Kenma has never been good at holding attention.

Nevertheless, if Kenma had to say he hated anything, it would be eye contact — because the eyes are the windows to the soul and Kenma knows that people never like what they see in his. Kenma knows from experience that his eyes are filled with burden and eerie discomfort, and by now, he knows better than to let his gaze rest too long on another's.

Face cast down, Kenma shuffles to his seat. He lets the familiar mixture of relief and disappointment over his unnoticed entrance come and pass as it always does. His phone sits forgotten at the bottom of his bag.

No, Kenma doesn't particularly hate school, but he can't say that he likes it, either.

 

* * *

 

He meets Shouyou as usual during lunch at their usual spot on the roof. When he gets there, Shouyou is already curled up against the wall, sucking at a box of mango juice and a pork bun clutched in his other hand. Kenma joins him, setting his bag down by the door after kicking at the ground for any bugs crawling about.

"You haven't replied to my messages," Shouyou says through a mouthful of food.

Kenma swallows guiltily. 'Sorry.' Then for a brief moment, he hesitates, wondering if he should mention that he'd found out the identity of the mystery texter, but ends up deciding against, figuring that there'd be no point in the long run. Shouyou would only make a big deal of it and Kuroo Tetsurou would surely have stopped all contact by this time tomorrow anyway. 'Nearly got caught by the teacher,' he lies.

"Playing games in class again?" Shouyou guesses with a small laugh, crumpling the empty juice box in his fist. "Anyway, I just texted you to go home with Daichi after school, just in case you forgot."

At Kenma's contemplative — figurative — silence, Shouyou puffs out his cheeks indignantly.

"You forgot, didn't you? I got a job, remember? My first shift starts today!"

'I didn't forget.' Kenma looks down at his hands. 'I... Do you want me to go with you?'

Warily, Kenma glances up through his bangs to gauge Shouyou's reaction only to be very nearly blinded by the stars in his friend's eyes and the sheer blinding brightness of his grin.

His attempt at signing, 'I just wanted free coffee,' is thwarted by Shouyou's octopus arms as they constrict around Kenma's shoulders.

 _"Kenma._ You're the best."

 

* * *

 

"Hi," Oikawa breathes, after a short moment.

The man looks at him through his one open eye, the other pinched shut by the reddened scar marring half his face. He says nothing.

Oikawa swallows but smiles on. "That was Yiruma, wasn't it? _The River Flows In You_ , _"_ he says with a touch of pride. He has a large repertoire of classical music — but it's something that he's kept from the rest of his band mates. They'd never let him live it down if they found out. 

He's met with stony silence once again.

Oikawa cocks his head to the side; wonders if the man is tongue-tied by his very presence. Surprisingly, Oikawa does have his fair share of male fans. The stranger must have recognised him and is absolutely star-struck.

With a surge of confidence from the thought, Oikawa takes a step closer, bringing the piano within arm's reach. The instrument acts like a barricade between their bodies. "Do you know _Hammerklavier_?"

In the quiet of the room, Oikawa nearly jumps when the man says shortly, "Yes," in a voice just a notch louder than strictly necessary, given their current proximity.

Oikawa's brow lifts in surprise. It's a difficult piece. "What about _Polonaise-Fantaisie_?" he challenges.

"... Yes."

"Scriabin's _Etudes_?"

A nod.

" _The Goldberg Variations_ ," he demands.

Another nod.

"... _Rondo Alla Turca_. Mozart."

"Yeah."

Oikawa feels his heart leap in his chest. "Okay, I'm not buying. You're lying!" he declares. "At least about one of those."

The man gives him a look that's halfway between amusement and annoyance. The tilt of his eyebrow leans more towards the latter, however. "... No."

With a bold grin, Oikawa plants his ass on the edge of the piano. One imperious point of his finger later, he says, "Prove it."

The man, clearly struggling with himself, looks almost ready to say no. But obviously unwilling to back down from the challenge placed upon his skill, he brings his hands back to the keys.

Then he plays, and Oikawa shuts his eyes from the sight. He feels like a child again when he hears the familiar melody and tries to convince himself that the sting in his eyes is consequence of the dust in the room.  

 

* * *

 

Hours later when Oikawa leaves the store, he carries nothing with him but the weight of the man's name and the heavy silence of unsaid goodbyes. When Iwaizumi — 'Iwa-chan', Oikawa had affectionately dubbed him in his head because it had definitely suited him better — had finished his last piece and proceeded to gather his sheet music in his calloused hands, he'd then went on to leave with nothing but a curt nod of acknowledgement and not a touch of smugness that he'd played every piece by memory, and Oikawa had to swallow the unsatisfied bitterness in his throat; mask it from his face with a bright smile. 

There is one thing Oikawa knows for certain, though, and glancing back at the blinking closed sign on the window as he quickens his steps on his way home, fingers numb from the cold, it is that he will definitely be coming back. 

 

* * *

 

"This doesn't make any sense. Does this make any sense to you?"

"Bro," Bokuto says seriously, stretching out the kinks in his arms before resting them along the couch. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about this!" Kuroo explodes, throwing his phone at his friend. Bokuto catches it with confusion.

"It's a phone. What's not to get?"

Kuroo rolls his eyes. " _Bro_. Look at the phone."

Bokuto does, squinting at the screen for a couple of minutes. "Okay," he starts, drawing out the word with heavy scepticism. "Who's Kozume Kenma, though?"

"The blondie," Kuroo says impatiently, tone implying the _'_ _Duh'._

Bokuto huffs. _Was that supposed to be obvious?_ Glancing back at the conversation on the screen, he supposes it probably had been. But it doesn't give Kuroo an excuse to be a total _ass_ about it. "What's the problem?"

"Look at the last message."

Clearing his throat, Bokuto lowers his voice to poor imitation of Kuroo's as he reads out, "'Hey, uh, can I call you? I really suck at this apolo — '"

"Dude!" Kuroo flings himself bodily at his band mate, clapping a hand over Bokuto's mouth. "I didn't tell you to read it out loud!"

Bokuto makes a muffled sound.

"And I _don't_ sound like that. My voice is way sexier," Kuroo adds. He quickly pulls his hand back before Bokuto can lick it.

"If I'm not supposed to read it, then what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"This!" Kuroo yells in anguish, pointing at the screen. "It says, 'Message read at 8:13 AM'! There's _two_ check-marks! It makes no sense!"

"Listen. _Bro_ ," Bokuto says, placing a condescending hand on Kuroo's knee. "He's totally ignoring you."

"... But..."

"Hard concept to grasp?" Tsukishima drawls, appearing out of fucking nowhere, taking a swig from a water bottle.

Kuroo squints at him. "Do you... like... _exist_ to harass me?"

Tsukishima levels him a long, terribly aggravating look before turning to leave. "As surprising as it sounds, there are things that happen in this world that don't revolve around you. My existence happens to be one of them." Then he's gone, and with him his infuriating amount of holier-than-thou attitude, chin held high in the air.

"You do," Kuroo shouts after him. "He does," he adds to Bokuto.

Bokuto shrugs. "He's got a point, though."

"... _What_ point."

"Haha, nevermind, nevermind! So, the kid's ignoring you. Why does it matter?"

"... It just doesn't make _sense._ "

Bokuto puffs out his cheeks in an exaggerated pout. "You know what _really_ doesn't make any sense? Akaashi spending five hours lecturing me when I clearly just did us all a huge favour! We needed those TVs!"

"I literally do not want to hear the word TV again for the rest of the week. Maybe the rest of my life," Kuroo says extremely seriously. "Can we please focus on my problem here?"

Bokuto gets up and puts his hands on his hips, as if trying to look stern. It really doesn't work, as his hair, un-styled black and white strands hanging in his eyes, makes him look about five years younger than usual. "If he's ignoring your message, he doesn't want you to call. That, or, he forgot to reply. I do that sometimes. A lot of times, actually. ... But seriously! You're like, being totally un-cool lately!"

"How am I being un-cool? I'm like the definition of coolness. I breathe cool-inity."

"Bro..." Bokuto shakes his head sadly. "Talk to me when you're cool again." Then he goes, and Kuroo watches him leave with his jaw hanging slack.

That's how Oikawa finds him that night, sitting alone in the common area, open-mouthed and his phone held up in the air, looking like a very stupid, very large gargoyle. Before Oikawa can ask, or make a sassy comment about his brain-functioning, Kuroo asks, "What do you usually do when someone is ignoring you?"

Oikawa looks startled for a minute, but eventually, he rubs his chin in thought. "Probably annoy them until they talk to me again. ... Why?" The brunette smiles slyly. "Did Kuroo-chan get rejected by another pretty lady?"

Kuroo has no idea why he'd thought that asking Oikawa of all people for life advice had been a good idea, but apparently he's been making all sorts of terrible decisions lately. He gets up to go to his room, pretending not to hear as an indignant Oikawa calls after him for being ignored. Shutting the door on the noisy whining, Kuroo flops stomach first onto his bed, resting his chin on a pillow.

 _'Annoy them until they talk to me again,'_ Oikawa had said, but Kuroo is sure something like that wouldn't work with Kozume Kenma. The kid has been doing a fantastic job at ignoring his texts thus far.

_But maybe..._

It would be hard to ignore him if he did _that_ wouldn't it?

Kuroo hovers his thumb over the call button, wondering if he's really going to such desperate measures to catch this kid's attention. Then he figures that if Kenma rejects the call, he'd know for sure that his pestering is unwanted and he'll leave him alone afterwards. It's foolproof.

Kuroo ignores the tiny voice in his head that tells him he probably wouldn't give up even then, because there's something about Kozume Kenma and his silences that make Kuroo want to be pushier than ever.

He presses _Call._ Then, listening to the lazy trill of the dial tone, he waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this chapter was a mess. just like my mind rn

**Author's Note:**

> toppah.tumblr.com


End file.
